Fallout 3 New Vegas
by Nintendoboy64
Summary: An interconnecting story about Timothy, a courier, who loses his memory after being shot in the head. Led by confusion, anger, and a mysterious woman named Reyna, he sets across the Mojave desert, all the while affecting peoples lives forever. Rated T for some violence and some alcohol/drug references. Constructive criticism is welcomed. Also, it is my first full project.
Chapter I

I open my eyes, my head burning from the bright lights. I don't know where I am. Where I'm from. The walls of the room are a dark wood, cracked and peeling. I breathe in, deeply, and feel my head ring with intense pain. I'm laying in a bed, sheets over me, reaching up to my neck. The roof stares at me blankly, like the sky, right before a terrible radstorm. I start to move off the bed, when an old man stops me. "Whoa there," he says, "better be careful. You haven't been on your feet for days." He grabs my arm and helps me to my feet. I immediately fall back into the bed. "Oh, it's alright," he says calmly, "Now, I need to ask you some questions. Understand?" I nod my head. "Yeah," I say sarcastically, "I'm injured, not an idiot." He laughs. It wasn't supposed to be a joke. "What even happened anyway?" I blurt out, "Where am I?" The old man looks concerned. He ruffles his wide rimmed hat and shakes his head. "Well, that's too bad. It seems you've lost your memory. Well, now you've just done spent the last weekend here in town." I shake my head. The Last week? No. Not possible. I know where I was... I was at... well, I don't remember. I don't remember anything at all. "Who are you," I get out, though my voice sounds almost like I'm crying. "Please. I don't remember anything." The man frowns and nods his head. "Eh, I guess that makes since. " He pulls a screen out from underneath the bed, and flips a switch. "Well, I'm doc Mitchell, and I'm still wondering who you are. You never gave us a name." I nod. Who am I? I can almost feel the name in my throat. That's when I hear the voice. It's a soft, feminine voice. And it's the most beautiful sound I've heard since waking up. Timothy... I Nod my head at the doc. "My name is Timothy." He smiles, and pats my shoulder. "There we go," he says, "see? Start with the easy stuff, then move onto the harder stuff later." He pulled out the screen. It shows a face. My face. "Anything I mess up during surgery?" My dark green eyes stare at me, my normally fleshed out face gaunt from hunger. I know what I look like. And this person in the mirror is barely me. Dyed blonde hair, a thick beard. I never looked quite this animalistic before. At least I don't think I did. Lastly of all, there's a bright red scar across my left temple. I must've been shot. I nod my head. "This is me," I say slowly. "My name is Timothy Marshal." The doctor nods. "Okay." He puts the screen away. "Now let's see if we can get you onto your feet, eh?"

I stand with trouble, and feel my insides lurch, as if I've been falling for hours, and finally reached the bottom. My head burns and my ears ring. The doctor helps me steady my self, then walks to his desk to grab something. "There yah go..." He holds a stimpak in his hand, which he proceeds to push into my arm, releasing the medicine within. It should hurt, but I feel like I've done it thousands of times before.

"Uh, doc," I say before it gets off my mind, "why... why am I here?"

He laughs. "Well because you done been shot!"

"By who?" I instinctively touch my forehead.

"Dunno," he chuckles, "All I remember is the checkered suit. You'd have to ask down around prospector saloon." I nod my head, thinking hard.

"Where am I, again?" As I say it, I almost feel stupid. But I just don't know. "Well, you're in Goodsprings. Right now in my house." He pauses, scratching his moustached chin. "Are you sayin that you can't remember nothing?" I nod my head. He sighs deeply. "That bullet did more damage than I though..." I feel like crying. Here I am, having been asleep for day, not remembering a thing. But the doc continues rummaging through his bags, paying me little attention. "What do I do now," I ask, "I need to go somewhere." The doc nods his head and pulls out a bottle. "This," he starts, "is just the stuff you're needing. It helps you remember. Slowly, of course. But you will remember everything. Hopefully." I smile and take the pill. "Go wait by the door while I get you some things," he walks off.

I walk to the door, my legs feel like lead. My head still blares all sorts of alarms at me. My ears ring still. As I reach the door, I hear the doc coming behind me. "Now I hope you'd not mind," he says, " but I went through your stuff. And from what I can tell, you are a courier. You've been hired to deliver some sort of chip up to The Strip, but that's all I know. Here ya go." He hands me the papers, along with a backpack and a 9mm pistol. "I would go find a girl named Sunny Smiles, down at the saloon. She can help you get on your feet." He pats me on the shoulder, and I walk out the front door thanking him again. Bright sunlight meets my eyes as I open the door to the wasteland.

Goodsprings is a small town, maybe ten, fifteen buildings. I can see at least ten people out and about, doing things from farming, to walking into the general goods store. It looks cozy, but from the things I remember, cozy is not a word to describe the world. Some smaller memories never seemed to have left. Just the important stuff. I scan the buildings, and pick out what seems to be the saloon. But we're I can reach it, I hear a voice call out from behind me.

"Hey," it says in a thick southern accent, "Hey, bud!"

I turn to see a six foot, one wheeled robot strolling toward me. He waves two large metallic arms and continues to call me. "Um. Hi," I call back, "Can I help you?" The robot has a screen in its chest with a cartoon cowboy face on it. The face smiles at me, like it knows my deepest secrets. "Well howdy, pardner," the cowboy robot says, "how ya holding up?" It imitates the tipping of a hat, it's little screen changing to a hatless cowboy, then back to the normal, smiling one.

I nod my head back, and can't help myself. "What are you?"

"Well, my name is Victor." It's face changes to an amused one. "Well, I'm the guy who saved your life!"

I sigh, confused. "How did you save my life," I say with sarcasm. He seems dying to tell me. "Well, after you were shot in the head by the checkered suit man, I dug you up out of the grave he put you in and brought you up to doc Mitchell's all by my self."

I nod my head. "Well, thanks," I say, rubbing my chin. The beard still doesn't feel right. "Uh, well... I gotta go. The doc said to meet someone down at the saloon."

It nods and smiles. "Well, get on, pardner!" It waves me off, and I walk quickly away, towards the saloon. An old man sits outside the saloon, nodding hello at me. I nod back. I push at the door of the saloon, and am greeted by a refreshing shower of air conditioning.

The room is decorated with paintings, the ground covered in carpets. A pool table sits in the middle of the room, with a jukebox sitting in the corner. The room splits into a second, which is probably where the bar is, but that's not what I'm here for. In front of me, playing pool is a girl, a dog at her heels. She hits the white ball into another, which sets off a chain reaction that successfully lands three other balls into their nets.

I step forward. "Miss Smiles," I say. She turns to me. She has mid length blonde hair, tied in a bun, dark brown eyes, and a thin face. She smiled-no pun intended- and steps forward for a handshake. She's small, but her handshake is firm. She's pretty, I guess, but I can't shake the feeling that I shouldn't think like that. My head hurts, thinking about anything.

"That's my name," she says sweetly, "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"Um," I stammer. Stupid... "My name is Timothy. Timothy Marshal."

"Oh, so you're the, uh..."she mimics the gunshot to the forehead, then giggles softly. I can't help but smile.

"Yeah, that's me." I shake my head, mind racing. That isn't me. Who am I really? "Well, the doc said you could help me out," I say, "I mean I think he meant with like... you know, uh,"

She laughs again. "Stop it," she says softly, pointing at her dog, "Cheyenne doesn't like it when people stammer. It usually means that they're liars." I nod my head, and she winks. "But I know what you mean. Follow me."

She heads toward the back of the building, towards a door with and exit sign over it. As we, along with Sunny's dog, go through the door, I'm reminded how oppressive the heat is. The back door leads to a small lot with empty boxes and bottles littered all around. It smells like a mix of alcohol and soda. I follow Sunny around a fence between us and the boxes. Two rifles lean against a long box, which she pulls five bottles out of, and nods toward the guns.

"Lets do some target practice, eh?"

I smile and look at both the guns. One has Sunny's name etched into it, so I take the other one, which is identical in every way except the carving. It's light, and looks like it would shoot nothing larger than a .22. As I cock the gun, Sunny puts her hand on my arm, which makes me jump a little.

"I like your suit," she says softly, "but what's that on your arm?"

I look down at my arm, and my head splits. I'd forgotten about the pip-boy on my arm. It's a clunky, detachable wristband, with a screen on it that tells the time, regulates body temperatures, and alerts me of radiation poisoning.

"It's, uh..." I stammer. "It's a pip-boy 250. I got it when I was a kid. It's just... I don't remember where I got it."

She nods her head. "It's alright. I understand."

But she doesn't. She doesn't really know. I'm thankful for her kindness, but she doesn't understand. "Thanks," I mutter, "what's next?" She pulls her hand off my arm, face slightly red, and points at the gate.

"Shoot the bottles down," she says. "Just keep your breathing steady, and relax when aiming. A cluttered mind means a crappy shot."

I chuckle. I already know all this, but let her tell me anyway. She backs away, and nods her head, giving conformation.

Pop! The bullet smashes one of the bottles.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

All five bottles lay in shambles. I'm sweating, but my suit seems to cool down around me. "Wow," Sunny says, "That was great." She high fives me, and I smile. I don't know why, but it doesn't seem normal. I must've not smiled much.

"Thanks," I say, "It wasn't really that hard, though." She tosses me a box of ammunition, and nods toward my backpack. "You should use that," she says, "and if you want a challenge, I heard about some geckos down near the water source if you want to come down with me to finish em off."

I nod my head. "Let's go."

When we finally reach the water hole, the sun is setting. It casts a radiant red lights across the desert plains. The clouds look like a bunch of sheep frolicking across the sky. That is if sheep had only one head... and their fur was white. Sunny stands a foot or two in front of me, binoculars in hand, scouting the area.

She turns toward me. "They've all seemed to converge around the water pump. If we can ambush them, we'll get them quick." She winks. "That is if your aim is what you claim it to be."

Okay, so what, I may have boasted about some of the shots I remember. But in my defense, I was awesome. Like really awesome.

"Let's proceed," I say, cocking the gun. "Carefully."

The geckos are about three feet tall and have large, sharp mouths. The look like little devils that forgot their dinner, and are still hungry. Sunny splits to my left, Cheyenne following closely behind her. I look at her, nodding. But just before we take our shots, a woman emerges from behind us. She whistles a soft tune, which attracts the geckos quickly. I almost yell for her to get down, when one of the leaps at her.

It latches onto her leg and starts tearing at her flesh. Instinctively, I raise my gun and pop the oversized reptile in the head, leaving a dead carcass on the ground. The others have already heard, though. Sunny picks one of from where she is. I shoot another. She shoots one in the eye. Soon, all of the are dead, the woman safe, and us covered in sweat.

"Take the other side," she says as she lifts the woman onto her shoulder. "Come on, we'll take her down to The Saloon." We struggle with the lady, blood pouring from her heel.

"Screw this, " I say, dropping her softly. "We gotta cauterize this cut." The cut is long. Somehow it only got one tooth in. Thankfully. I pull a spare shirt out of my backpack, along with a knife.

"Heat this up," I say, handing the knife to Sunny. She starts a small fire and starts burning the metal. Meanwhile, I rip a sleeve off and start tying it around the woman's lower knee. It tightens and I can tell that it's starting to cut the blood flow off. I look up to see Sunny holding a bright red knife. "Here," she says. The sun is gone now, the moon has taken its place. It makes the knife stand out in the darkness. Sunny's face looks pale, whether by the moonlight, or from exhaustion, I can't tell.

I look at the woman, who is now unconscious. "Sorry," I mutter as I wipe the blood away and press the blade onto the cut. He skin sizzles under the heat, and I pull it away a second later. "There..." My hands are bloody, Sunny's are almost bleach with soot. I rub my hand on my blue suit and seems to deny the liquid, which rolls off the fabric.

By the time we make it back to the saloon, the moon is almost setting. It must be at least midnight. The woman, who's name is Reyna, is awake, telling us about how she was traveling here to meet someone. She doesn't remember who. "Why we're you at the water source," I ask, "was there supposed to me someone there?" She nods. She has short, Brown hair that reaches just below her ears, and a pretty face covered in freckles. I feel bag, again, for feeling that any of these women are pretty, but can't help it. I don't know who I am, I tell myself, I'm allowed to think someone's attractive without you telling me that it's wrong.

"I'm sorry," she says, her soft voice almost sounding like a ghost in the wasteland, "I should've been prepared. All my stuff is back at the saloon. I didn't think about it." Sunny consoles her. "No, no, it's all right. It's okay. It's no one's fault. We should just be glad we were there when we were."

"Now, come on, here it is," I say as we approach the building. Reyna tries walking by herself, but she falls. I catch her before she lands face first into the dirt. "Careful, " I warn. "Need to be careful."

Sunny opens the doors of the saloon, welcoming us once again to the cool air. Reyna lets out an audible sigh. We take her to the back room, where she said her bag is. What I see in the room is a military backpack so full, that it makes mine look small. There must be at least five guns poking out from random places. "Heck of a bag," I say. She giggles. Cute. "Thanks," she says, clearing her throat. When she comes up, her face is red. "Sorry again," she says, "but I must be off. For another time, Mr. Marshal."

I stop. "What, you're going already?"

She nods her head. "I must. I'm needed elsewhere." She starts to walk past me. I grab her arm softly, making sure that I don't seem too rude. "You sure you're safe out there?"

She laughs. "Of course I am. I've been fine for over eight years."

I laugh. "Except, of course for geckos." She laughs, almost dropping her bag. "Yes. Except for geckos. If I need your help with geckos, I will... I'll find you." I nod, and watch her leave. My head spins. What is this? I've been so distracted from my talk with Reyna, that it's only now that I hear the argument behind me.

A yellow skinned man in a blue jumpsuit, a different color from mine, yells curses at a woman standing behind the bar.

"Well, if you won't give him up, then we'll just have to pay you a little visit sometimes huh?" He storms out of the building, cursing and puffing. Sunny talks to the woman at the bar. "I understand." She walks toward me. She must've missed me and Reyna's conversation.

"What's wrong," I say, "Is every one all right?"

Sunny shakes her head. "Not for long. The powder gangers have just declared war on Goodsprings."


End file.
